AN: This is my first fic, be kind. I thought there was a severe lack of this pairing, so I just had to make it. This is going to be a long, many chaptered, story hopefully. I do not own any Game of Thrones characters. This is SLASH fiction. Please review.

Chapter 1

Robb Stark was wandering around his army's camp silently followed by his wolf, Grey Wind. His feet hurt, his face stung, his limbs ached; war and winter were not a comfortable combination. Everyone around him was expecting so much of him and he felt like he just couldn't live up to it all. He missed Bran, hoped he was getting better after his fall. He missed Rickon, and his sisters. He missed Jon Snow quite a lot as well. But all these were dull feelings he had pushed to the bottom of his stomach compared to the raw anger and grief he was feeling for his father, Ned Stark; killed by the newly appointed King Joffrey for telling the truth about him. King Joffrey. Hah. What a joke he was. But not a very amusing joke it seemed, as the vicious cunt had taken so much from him. Joffrey was no Baratheon, he had nothing of his father, he was Lannister through and through. An evil Lannister cub with far too much power for his own arrogant little head. Robb had been wandering through the camp and just as he was thinking about how much he hated the lions, he came across Jaime Lannister's cage. His own caged lion. Robb stared at him through the bars. His mane had grown long and unkempt, and a dirty beard had formed, his arms were tied behind a pole and he was slumped on the floor; but the man still kept his look of pride, he had been beaten and caged for months and he still wasn't broken, as he looked up at Robb he almost looked slightly amused by his predicament. Robb frowned. This couldn't do, the man who pushed Bran off the tower and who was rumoured to be the real person to blame for Joffrey's hated existence, he didn't deserve to look so smug. Robb opened the cage and strolled in, followed by the wolf, who growled threateningly. Jaime smiled.

"Can I help you, oh great and powerful King of the North?" he asked mockingly. Robb's frown deepened, but he said nothing. He wasn't entirely sure why he had let himself in the cage to begin with. They stared at each other for what must have been a minute, Jaime looking mildly amused by the whole situation and Robb shooting daggers.

"Why did you push Bran?" asked Robb finally, feeling like he should at least say something.

Jaime looked mildly disappointed with this question, Robb couldn't think what kind of question he might've been expecting. "That..." he started, "is just one of those unfortunate things really. How's your father doing though?"

"Don't change the fucking subject, you know too well how he's doing." Robb spat.

"Yes, I suppose he has a good view of the Capital from up on that spike." He said with a seemingly thoughtful expression. Robb kicked the man hard in his dirty face with his large booted foot, as Grey Wind growled louder and edged closer. Jaime spat out the mud and blood and looked at the floor for a second, almost to compose himself; then he turned his face to Robb, grinned, and swept his feet under Robb's legs making him stumble and fall onto his knees, face level with Lannister's. Their faces were inches apart, Robb could see all the scars and cuts from his capture, and past wars perhaps, and the fresh bruises forming from his kick. A lock of Jaime's dirty blonde hair fell over his face and Robb took a sharp intake of breath, for the smallest of moments forgetting everything that was going on, everyone that was around him, and every reason he hated this man in front of him. But that moment quickly passed as his wolf lunged for Jaime's torso, and Robb stood up slowly.

"It's ok, Grey Wind, he was just grasping at the little pride he has left," he said to the wolf, still looking at Jaime's face, the man's expression was unreadable. The wolf stepped back and emitted a low growl, as Robb took one last look at the trapped lion and stormed off, locking the cage, Grey Wind at his ankles.


It was the middle of the night and Jaime Lannister was dozing as much as he could in the incredibly uncomfortable position that he was in against this pole. He had been tortured and kicked and beaten and starved over the past month or so. His face stung from the cuts and the cold air, his lips chapped and his back was in so much pain from being in this position for such a long time. His whole body ached but he could take all of it, he was a proud Lannister and he was not going to show any sign of mental weakness. He had no mental weaknesses. Or so he had thought. Earlier that day the Stark traitor had payed him a visit, and as he had stood there in silence with his ridiculous wolf staring him down, Jaime was beginning to wonder if the lad had any idea why he was even here. He looked troubled and hurt, two expressions which didn't suit his usually quite handsome face, but they were the main expressions that had been on it of late. Jaime thought the boy was weak, not fit to be a 'King of the North' or anything of the like. When he finally spoke, it was to ask something that was the last thing that Jaime had wanted to talk about with him. Why had he pushed the kid off the tower? Jaime wasn't even sure himself. It was a spur of the moment decision, a reaction to the desperation in his sisters eyes when the kid had seen them fucking. Cersei. He missed her warm embrace, and not just because he couldn't feel it anymore. It had been many years since he had truly felt it, because lately it had not been so warm and comforting. They fucked simply to keep the Lannister line pure, and because she was desperate for it; her husband, the late King Robert Baratheon, had been a drunk and had never satisfied her. So someone had to. Jaime had truly cared for his sister, and for a while at the start of their affair, he had thought she had felt the same; but as the years drew on he realised it meant nothing to her. It seemed as though nothing meant anything to her, he wasn't even sure that he was the only Lannister she was fucking. And where was she now, while he was caged up in this stinking Stark camp? Busy doting on their bastard incest-born King of a son? Busy killing the only man that she could've used as a bargaining chip for his own freedom? Now Eddard Stark was dead, and Jaime was stuck here. Nice work, Cersei.

These were thoughts that had gone through his mind several painful betrayed evenings in this cage, when no one was around to witness his weak moments. Why had he pushed that child off the tower? To keep Cersei's secret. Not his secret, hers. He didn't even care if everyone found out, he had loved her and would've shouted it from the rooftops; but she was the one who was ashamed. Fair enough, she had a husband and was the Queen, but still, it was not his secret. He had nothing against the kid, children were completely innocent in this war. No child was responsible for the sins of his parents or family. But in the spur of the moment desperation in his sister's eyes he had acted and pushed this innocently curious child off the tower, almost killing him, and crippling him for life. He was no monster, he just looked out for his own; and that was definitely not his proudest moment.

So there Eddard Stark's handsome but weak heir was, asking why he'd done it. He felt he needed to change the subject, say something to rile the lad up, so he mentioned his dear dead daddy. He had wanted to see Stark's reaction, and boy did he get one: a very painful one in the side of the face. His natural reaction to being kicked in the face was certainly to fight back, but since he had no weapons, or even any available hands for that matter, he simply swept his legs under the lad, making him fall to his knees.

What happened at that moment disarmed Jaime. He had not been expecting their faces to land mere inches apart like that, and all the blood went into his chest. He could see all of the boy's features, his thick soft lips, his deep dark eyes, and at Stark's intake of breath, Jaime's pants tightened. Luckily that silly dog saved him from the moment by ripping into his chest. Robb Stark stood up and glared at him, ordering his wolf off. The instant pain left by the beast was completely manageable compared to that bizarre moment of mental weakness that he had felt just then.

So now, he sat in his cage, tied to his pole, in the dark of the night, and the cold of the coming winter, worried. What was that all about? His body had betrayed him! Nothing like that was ever going to happen again. He hoped against hope that Stark had not noticed anything that was going on inside his head at that moment. Lions were strong, and did not get beaten by wolves.